Blasted Wreck of a Cat
by Zero Is Plural
Summary: “And you are off your rocker,” Draco informed him. “I am only marginally evil and I am not holding Granger’s cat hostage.” [might be DMHG, but right now it's mostly DMcrookshanks...]features sleep deprived!draco and shedding!crookshanks
1. Insomnia

**Disclaimer:** Draco, Crookshanks, and all other proper nouns belong to the great and wonderful JKR. Please don't sue, I don't have any money.

**Author's Note:** This fic has absolutely no point or purpose. I, like Draco, am an insomniac and this is what happens when I have too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

**It has been decided!** I am going to expand this fic into a full-on espionage fic. So consider this the first chapter.

xXx

**Chapter One:** In which Draco rants, Potter seethes, Granger glares and Weasley is lost.

It was almost two in the morning, and once again, he couldn't sleep.

Draco Malfoy sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room, Granger's blasted wreck of a cat curled in his lap. Draco looked down and stroked the cat's head absently. It wasn't a _bad_ cat, per say. In fact, Draco quite liked it. The problem was that it was Granger's. And it shed. A lot. All over Draco's best robes.

And his pajamas.

And his sheets.

And _how_, Draco wanted to know, did the blasted thing get into the Slytherin dorms all the time? Draco narrowed his eyes at the dozing creature. What secrets was it hiding?

He picked the cat up and held it at arm's length, considering it.

"What secrets are you hiding?" he asked it.

The cat merely blinked at him. Draco glared. The cat blinked. Draco sneered. The cat blinked.

And so on.

Draco sighed and put the cat down on the floor, whereupon it hopped back up into his lap and continued purring. Draco couldn't be sure, but it sounded as if it was a smug, _triumphant_ sort of purring.

"Blasted cat," he muttered. "I _will_ find out what you're hiding."

"Draco, who are you talking to?" Blaise Zabini had wandered into the common room. Draco looked up, unconcerned.

"To the cat," he answered, as if this were a perfectly sane and logical thing to be doing. Blaise raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, just continued on his way out of the room. It was then that Draco noticed that the other boy was not, in fact, in his pajamas, but fully dressed.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Astronomy Tower," Blaise answered.

"Ah. Say no more, old friend, but remember to use a condom and whoever she is, I hope she is not diseased." Draco nodded his approval and Blaise left, wondering exactly how much sleep Draco had been getting and if it was enough. He decided it wasn't.

Draco turned his attention back to the cat. Granger's cat.

Why was he cuddling Granger's cat? The damn thing probably had fleas from being around that filthy Weasley peon and may have developed a sort of superiority complex from Potter.

Was that sort of thing contagious? Could a cat _have_ a superiority complex?

Draco made a mental note to look into that.

Then he made another mental note to get more sleep. He was ranting, and there was no one to rant to. It was a bit disturbing. He checked the clock above the fireplace. Two thirty. Classes didn't start until nine and breakfast wouldn't be served until eight. That left him with at least five and half hours to either mentally ramble about Granger's cat, sleep, or wander the castle.

He chose the latter.

xXx

Draco could never understand why the teachers made such a big stink about students out of their beds after hours. Maybe two years ago, when things were still dangerous, but the war was over, which meant that Voldemort was not hiding behind the tapestries. The only thing you really had to watch out for was Peeves, and one could usually hear him coming a mile off.

And anyway, Draco didn't see the big deal when the war _was_ still in progress. From someone who knew the man personally, being in your bed would not stop the Dark Lord. He was not the type to jump out at you from your wardrobe and shout "Boo!" He was not Peeves and you would not hear him coming.

But, having known the man personally, Draco also knew that the codger was just a big has-been wind-bag. He talked a big game, but when it came down to it, all it took was a couple of sixteen-year-olds with wands to stop him. Lucius had been crushed at his downfall. Draco had been secretly relieved. The idea of branding his perfect skin with that disgusting tattoo was more than he could bear. His body was his temple and he'd be damned if some ego maniac and his henchmen were going to sully it up. And world domination didn't appeal to Draco. All the planning and the scheming and the killing and general messiness was far too much. It all seemed like a colossal pain in the arse.

Not that Draco planned to run off and become an Auror or anything. He just preferred terrorizing _locally_ as opposed to _globally_. There was a difference, even if Potter and his friends failed to see it.

Draco stopped suddenly, listening. He could hear the swish of a cloak from down the dark hall and cursed under his breath. It was either a teacher or a Prefect doing rounds. He slipped into a dark classroom, leaving the door cracked just enough to know when the intruder was gone. Voices reached his ears, sounding as if they were right outside the door. The only problem was that Draco couldn't see anyone.

"No, no. We're going the wrong way. We have to go _down_. The dungeons are at the _bottom_."

Wait. Draco knew that voice. It was that infernal Mudblood. He smirked.

"Brilliant deduction, Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Draco stepped out from behind the door to see – no one.

Well that was odd.

"Malfoy!" Potter's voice demanded from nowhere. "What are you doing out after hours?"

"Potter!" Draco demanded right back. "What are you doing being disembodied?"

"What does that mean?" Weasley's voice piped up. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Honestly Weasley. Just keep your mouth shut. By the way, where _is_ your mouth?" Draco was terribly curious and would not rest until he found out what spell Granger had taught those two imbeciles to make this happen.

"Honestly, Malfoy." Draco could _hear_ Granger rolling her eyes. There was a swish of cloak and all three of them were suddenly standing a little to his right. He jumped, but only a little. And he most certainly did not squeak.

"Did you just squeak?" Potter asked, leaning forward.

"Malfoys," Draco informed him imperiously, "Do not squeak." In the process of looking down his nose at the trio, he noticed something in Granger's hand. "Merlin's balls, Granger. Is that an Invisibility cloak?"

"Er…I suppose it is," she answered, glancing sideways at Potter.

"I see," Draco continued. "And you were going to – what, exactly? Infiltrate the Slytherin dorms? Hoping to catch a peek of Snape in his dressing gown? Because I can tell you now, I have seen it and it is not pretty."

Weasley narrowed his eyes. "No, Malfoy, we were going to – oof!"

Potter had elbowed him in the stomach to prevent him from telling Draco what their sad little plan was. Not that it mattered. Much.

Draco was still terribly curious.

"Why are _you_ out of bed, Malfoy? What are you up to?" Granger leaned forward and placed her hands on her hips.

"I will have you know that I am up to nothing. I simply could not sleep, so I decided to have a walk."

"I don't believe you. What are you up to?" Potter gave him a scrutinizing look. Draco sighed.

"Really, Potter. The war is over, so you can stop playing the wounded hero role. I am not, in fact, a pawn of the Dark Forces, I do not have the Mark, and I am not going to torture helpless creatures like the Creevy brothers. Actually, scratch that last one." Draco paused to savor the scandalized look Granger gave him. "I am simply an insomniac. I am not, at the moment, up to some nefarious plot, scheme or conspiracy. If you are hoping to turn someone in for debauchery, I would point you in the direction of Blaise Zabini and the Astronomy Tower."

Granger scowled, Potter seethed, and Weasley looked lost. Too many big words, Draco suspected.

"However, your lack of explanations leads me to believe that you lot are up to no good. Or as up to no good as a pack of Gryffindors can get. What's going on?"

Granger sighed. "I can't find Crookshanks."

Draco blinked. "What the hell is a Crookshanks?"

"Crookshanks is Hermione's cat," Weasley explained. "He's gone missing and we have searched the castle from the top down. All we have left are the dungeons."

"Your cat?" Draco asked Granger. "You mean that squashy-faced bowlegged pig with fur?"

Granger bristled. "Yes. And he does _not_ look like a pig." For some reason she shot Weasley the dirty look that Draco was quite sure belonged to him. He was somewhat affronted.

"Well, if you must know, your – Crookshanks, did you say his name was? Well, he is currently sleeping in front of the fire in my common room. There is no need to worry as he is quite safe, although if he continues to shed on my belongings I will be forced to take action."

"Oh, and what will you do, Malfoy? Kill him?" Weasley sneered in his general direction.

"Of course not, Millicent will shave him. Menial labor is beneath me, Weasley. I have minions for a reason."

"Why is my cat in your common room?" Granger asked, somewhat shrilly.

"Malfoy," Potter started in his I'm-the-hero-do-not-mess-with-me tone, "Why have you kidnapped Crookshanks? It will get you nowhere. Really, holding a helpless cat hostage. You are pure evil."

"And you are off your rocker," Draco informed him. "I am only marginally evil and I am not holding Granger's cat hostage. _He_ came to _me_. Clearly you all are not giving him enough attention because he shows up in my dorm at all hours, shedding on my sheets and eating the mince meat pies that Mother sends for me." He paused and considered for a moment. "In fact, that cat is the _only_ one who eats those pies. Mother's not the best cook, see."

Potter sighed. "Malfoy, give the cat back."

"Potter, _take_ the blasted thing. Look, if you all follow me, I will take you to the common room and he's all yours."

Draco started off in the direction of his common room. He got about ten feet before he realized that he was not being followed. He turned to see the Golden Trio staring at his as if his head were on backwards.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He pulled back a tapestry to reveal a secret passage to the dungeons. The three Gryffindors looked around at each other for a moment, then followed.

Upon arriving at the common room entrance, Draco fretted for a moment about the password. It would just not do to have a bunch of Gryffindors running about with his password. That awful Patil girl would end up stalking him and then pictures of him in his underwear would start to circulate and then – no. No, they must not hear the password.

"You lot! Close your ears!"

They all rolled their eyes and stuffed their fingers in their ears. Granger even hummed "Weasley is Our King." Draco almost chuckled. There may be hope for her yet.

He muttered the password and the portrait swung open. He checked to make sure Nott, who was prone to sleepwalking, wasn't wandering about starkers first, then waved them through. They stepped up to the fire and lo and behold – there was the elusive Crookshanks, curled up on Draco's school bag, shedding like it was going out of style. Granger ran over and scooped him up.

"Oh, Crookshanks, did the mean boy kidnap you? Poor baby." She nuzzled her face in his fur and he gave Draco a look that clearly said "Help me."

"I say, Granger, that is quite enough. No squishy feel-good scenes allowed. House rules and all. I will ask you to please remove yourself, your stooges and your pig from my common room before I am lynched by a mob of angry Slytherins in nightclothes. I could be hung, drawn, and quartered for this. And I _demand_ that you shave that beat. Look at my bag! This is _suede_." He shook the bag at her for emphasis.

Granger pulled a face at him. "Sod off, Malfoy," she suggested, then turned to leave. Potter and Weasley were already heading out the portrait hole.

"Oh, sure, Granger. It was no problem. No need to _thank me_ or anything!" Draco shouted at the closing portrait. He looked around at the now empty common room, wondering what to do next.

He sighed and plopped down in his chair. It just wasn't the same without Granger's blasted wreck of a cat dozing in his lap.

Damn her. And damn to the depths that blasted cat.

Now he really _would_ have to kidnap the thing.


	2. Plots

**Disclaimer:** None of this is mine (except maybe the totally ridiculous plot line).

**Author's Note:** It's a little short, but I ran out of coffee halfway through and lost my steam. Sorry.

xXx

**Chapter 2:** In which Draco eats sausages, starts a fire, and makes a list. In that order.

It was eight-fifteen in the morning, and Draco was plotting.

It had been a week since he had helped Granger retrieve her cat, and it had not come back. At least before, Draco got some semblance of sleep. Now, there was none. He had slept a grand total of ten hours in the last seven days. The other seventh year boys he shared a dorm with were becoming less and less tolerant of his late-night cleaning sprees. Pansy had stopped answering his crazed, insomnia-induced owls and wouldn't look him in the eye. Students from other houses stared at him in the hallways. His mirror was forever reminding him of the state his hair was in.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and that was the last straw.

Blaise watched as Draco speared a sausage link with unnecessary vehemence. He held it up to eye level, glaring at it. He sat like that for a good thirty seconds before biting into it.

"Er…Draco, mate? You feeling all right?" Blaise put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. Draco turned to him with dead eyes.

"What? Oh, yes, pass the toast, will you?"

Blaise said nothing, just handed him the toast.

Draco buttered his toast and plotted. How to get the cat back? He couldn't just ask Granger. Could he? He played it through in his head.

"_Oh, Granger. Do you think that I might borrow your cat? The only way I can sleep properly is if I cuddle the infernal thing."_

No, that would never do. Perhaps ransom? What could he take that she valued more than Crookshanks? Her school books? Her homework?

Her knickers?

No, none of it was good enough, and anyway, Draco wanted nothing to do with Granger's knickers. He looked around at the Gryffindor table, where Granger was lecturing Weasley about something, waving a bit a parchment at him, while Potter smirked into his scrambled eggs.

That was it. Potter and Weasley. Draco would kidnap them and hold them ransom.

It was evil. It was fiendish.

It was brilliant.

xXx

Draco slid into Potions just in time. His bottom had barley brushed his seat when Snape strode in, robes billowing, greasy hair flying.

"Quiet," he snapped. "Work," he snapped again, waving his wand at the board, where instructions for some ridiculously complicated potion appeared. He seated himself at his desk, gave the class a cursory glare, and picked up a stack of essays his first-year class had turned in that morning. Draco waited until Snape was fully immersed in his work before turning to the Gryffindors. He watched Ganger get up and wander toward the store cupboard, eyes glued to her book. She bumped into several tables and a few students, mumbling apologies but not taking her eyes off her book. Potter and Weasley were sitting at their table, bent over Potter's book.

"Psst. Potter," Draco whispered. Potter looked up, met his eyes, and scowled.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I was just wondering, do you prefer shackles or rope?"

"_Excuse_ me?!" Potter gave Draco a look of pure disgust and Weasley looked like his face was going to explode. "Look, Malfoy, I don't know what you heard, but I'm not like that."

"For crying out loud, Potter, get your mind out of the gutter. I'm not like that either, and even if I was I think I could do better than the likes of you. I am simply asking for future reference."

"In connection to what, exactly?"

"Your impending doom," Draco stated simply.

"Er…How much sleep have you been getting lately, Malfoy? Are you on drugs?"

"Malfoy! Potter! I don't know what the two of you are doing but whatever it is will have to wait until _after_ my class. Work," Snape commanded, glaring from behind his paperwork.

Draco spared Potter one last smirk before turning to his potion. He always thought it was fair to let your enemies (and victims) know what was coming. It gave them a fighting chance.

Not that it mattered. Draco was sure he could take Potter and Weasley and probably the rest of Gryffindor, all of Hufflepuff and most of Ravenclaw hostage if he had to. But it was matter of honor. And dignity. And…all that nonsense.

Draco absently threw a handful of boomslang skin into his cauldron, whereupon it erupted into flames.

Well, bugger it.

As Snape and the other students rushed about, Draco calmly stood and walked out of the room. There would be hell to pay later, but Draco needed to plan, so he shut himself into one of the soundproof study cubicles in the library and took out a quill and parchment. He had a whole list of various ways to trap, lure and trick Potter and Weasley by the time the bell rang for the next period. Oh yes. Life was good.

xXx

Draco sat in Muggle Studies, damning Dumbledore to the depths. The old fool had added Muggle Studies to the list of required courses the year before and Draco was quite sure it was all just to spite him. While Professor Sparks was yammering on about something called a elektrisity, Draco reviewed his list, crossing out things that were too outlandish (_#45: Dig a really big hole under the Gryffindor side of the Quidditch pitch_), things that were too obvious (_#63: Drag them both out of the Great Hall by their hair during breakfast_), and things that were likely to get him arrested _(#95: Torture Seamus Finnigan into turning them both over, then kill him and feed him to the Giant Squid_). He finally settled for one that was simple, straightforward, and allowed him to be sneaky and ninja-like (which was always fun).

_#26: Acquire the Gryffindor password, sneak in undetected in the night, stupefy them both and levitate them back to the dungeons._

But now, how to get the Gryffindor password? Draco peered around the room, his tired grey eyes coming to light on one Neville Longbottom.

Oh, but this was going to be easy.


	3. Herbology

**Author's Note:** Holy crap, it's been a while. This is just a little filler until I can get something with some substance going. OH, and if anyone knows where I can find Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing…Rat? that would be fantastic. It's not here or on Snooogle anymore and I'm a little upset about it.

**Disclaimer: **Pretty much none of this is mine.

xXx

**Chapter Three:** In which Draco takes up Herbology in the name of expionage.

It was lunchtime, and Draco wasn't quite sure what he was doing. Which was quite a change for him, really, because he almost always knew exactly what he was doing.

He had determined that the best course of action would be to get the password off of that bumbling idiot, Longbottom. And he was, of course, correct in this assumption. The only problem was going about doing it. He had made list upon list of was to acquire it, but none of them was good enough. Longbottom was an idiot, yes, but he wasn't completely without a brain. There was no way he was just going to hand it over.

Draco fiddled with his goblet, reverting back to his natural default when things weren't going his way: he glared at anyone who came near him and treated his food with an unhealthy amount of sadism. Already he had reduced a pile of stewed carrots into horrifying orange pulp. It had been days since he had slept. It was ridiculous, really, how much he needed that damned cat. He glared at Longbottom from across the Great Hall.

_Just you wait, Longbottom_, he thought. _Terrible things lay in your future._

The bell rang for the start if the next period, which Draco had free. He grudgingly got up and started collecting his things. He could see Longbottom gathering Herbology books and waving to his housemates. Suddenly, an idea flashed through Draco's mind. His biggest problem so far was getting near enough to his prey to extract the vital information needed to continue with his plan. It was so simple; he couldn't believe it hadn't dawned on him earlier.

xXx

Draco made sure to stay far enough behind the other boy so as not to raise suspicion was he followed him across the lawn to the greenhouses. He entered Greenhouse 9 just as the bell rang again. Professor Sprout was already at the head of the room, handing out trays.

"Alright class, today, we are going to be re-potting Hopping Hyssops. These little buggers are – Mister Malfoy, may I ask what you are doing in my class? As I recall you dropped Herbology last year." She put her hands on her hips, obviously expecting him to be up to something. The entire class, mostly Hufflepuffs, certainly not a single Slytherin, turned and took in a collective gasp at seeing him.

_Think fast, Draco. Fast!_

"Er, well, Professor, you see…" Draco flailed for words, putting on his most beatific smile. "You see, I have begun to doubt my decision. I have been thinking of taking it up again, and I thought I might sit in a class or two before making my final choice. That is, of course, if that's all right with you." He smiled again, a painful expression for him, and one reserved only for the most desperate of times.

Professor Sprout eyed him for a moment, then sighed. "Well, Mister Malfoy, I suppose if you have an interest in Herbology then I cannot deny you. You may sit in, but if I have any problems at all with you, you'll be out on you behind. Am I understood?"

"Absolutely, ma'am."

"Good. Now, Mister Longbottom hasn't got a bench partner this term, so you can work with him and may look off of his book for the time being."

Draco almost grinned. He could not believe his luck. Not only did his ridiculous story hold up, but he wouldn't even have to pour Bobotuber pus on someone to get in with Longbottom. His day just got better and better.


End file.
